Playing the Game
by Alex Kade
Summary: OW: Leave it to Ezra and his misunderstandings to make his own life more difficult...


**A/N: **Ezra's being, well, Ezra... You know that's never a good thing for our favorite gambler, especially in my hands... Owies, some kick-buttery, angry words, and revelations ensue. Enjoy!

Thanks Ais for being such an awesome beta!

* * *

Having turned the wrong way in his sleep, he had woken himself up well over an hour ago; but he lay as still as possible staring up at his ceiling. He had to wait for them to come to him, it would be out of character if he didn't. The whole day would have to be like that, push just enough and grate on the nerves just so in order to keep up appearances. Yes, it would irritate them and yes, they would attack him verbally over his behavior as always, but it would still be better than the other option. He couldn't handle them thinking he had done it on purpose, couldn't face the disappointment in their eyes over his inability to perform his duties properly. No, sir, he would not give them a reason to doubt him, to throw out their false accusations, to undermine what he had done for them. Today, he would con them. He would be his usual just-so-lazy, just-so-sharp, just-so-obnoxious, just-so-secretive, just-so-stubborn, just-so-mouthy self. They would never know the difference.

A quiet knock on his door reached his ears. _Here we go_, he thought as he closed his eyes and evened out his breathing. He heard the door open just a crack and had to force himself not to smile. He could sense the fear rising from his intruder.

"Ezra?"

_Ah, so Buck has drawn the short straw today. _If this were any other day, he would have taken advantage of his wakefulness, paying upon a certain debt of vengeance he held against the womanizer for his many pranks. But, no, today he would play his part as the sleepy curmudgeon who was as likely as not to shoot anyone who dared interrupt his nightly hibernations.

"Ez, you awake?"

Buck's voice was barely a whisper and Ezra found it difficult not to laugh outright and give himself away. He listened as the ladies' man literally tiptoed into the room, easing the door shut behind him. Creeping ever so slowly, ever so carefully to the bed, Buck reached over and silently removed Ezra's gun holster from around the bedpost. The Southerner couldn't help himself. He let out a little snort in his "sleep" and stifled another laugh when he heard Buck freeze in place, holding his breath for a few seconds until he convinced himself that the ornery gambler wasn't going to wake up and cause him bodily harm. Almost a full minute later, once the guns had been placed safely out of reach, Buck reached a tentative hand out to the cardsharp's shoulder. Ezra briefly wondered if the hand was shaking before it made contact with his body.

He obliged Mr. Wilmington with an annoyed groan.

"Come on, hoss, ya gotta get up," Buck said ever-so-gently. "The longer we wait, the longer it'll be 'fore the Coopers can move back into their home."

Ezra mumbled something unintelligible and rolled away from the offending hand on his shoulder, biting back the protest his body wanted to make at the movement.

"Now, Ezra, you don't want all them lil ones to have to stay in that itty-bitty room at the hotel, do ya?"

He allowed himself to peek through one slitted eye at the mustached man hovering over him.

"There you are," Buck smiled, relaxing his tense muscles. "Whoo, glad you're havin' one of your better mornin's."

Ezra flicked his eye to the sunlight just beginning to filter through the window, squeezed his lid shut again with another groan, then with as much venom as he could put into his voice, hissed out, "Go. Away."

"Oops, maybe I spoke too soon," the ladies' man said with a grin, knowing he was no longer in any danger of a dream-induced attack. He slapped Ezra's leg lightly, eliciting a rather ungentlemanly word from the gambler's lips. "Come on, Chris wants us to ride out as soon as you're ready to go, and you know he won't wait too long before he comes up here, himself."

"Then let him," the conman grumbled.

"The kids, Ez, think of the kids," Buck tried again.

Ezra let a long pause go buy before he responded, long enough so that the ladies' man wondered if he'd fallen back to sleep. Just as Buck shifted forward to shake him again, Ezra spit out a tired, "Fine. I'll be down shortly."

"That's the spirit," Buck grinned as he stood. He then swiftly exited the room to report on his success of waking the beast unscathed, Ezra presumed.

_Splendid performance. He never suspected a thing,_ he smiled to himself.

He only hoped the rest of the day would go as well.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

He ambled down the stairs slowly, a slight grimace on his face. He found he really didn't have to pretend to achieve that particular appearance.

"'Bout damn time," Chris mumbled before he stood up, and the rest of the waiting seven followed his lead. "Hurry up, Ezra, that house won't rebuild itself."

"Mr. Larabee, I won't be much use for rebuilding anything if I am not granted a few minutes for my morning repast."

"If you wanted coffee, you should've gotten up with the rest of us. Now let's go," the gunslinger snapped.

"I _am_ up with the sunrise, am I not?" Ezra grumbled, aimed more towards himself but loud enough for the group to hear.

"Praise the lord, that _is _a miracle," Josiah grinned.

Ezra scowled at him as they all made their way towards the livery.

_This is going really rather well._

He reminded himself not to smile. That would not go well with the current role of morning grump he was successfully portraying.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Saddling his horse proved to be slightly more difficult than he would have liked, and it was almost his undoing. If it weren't for his flawless ability to irritably place the blame for his clumsiness on his lack of coffee, they may have uncovered his little secret. Lucky for him, Maude had taught him well. In the end, after a rather threatening Larabee glare, JD had taken pity on the "not-quite-awake" gambler and made quick work of the remainder of Chaucer's tack.

"Thank you, Mr. Dunne," Ezra told him, and he had genuinely meant it. JD just didn't know exactly how _much_ he had meant it.

Once they were en route, he had to focus extra hard on keeping up his charade. Chaucer's gait was smooth, no doubt, but nothing could be smooth enough for what he really needed…with the exception of his feather bed. He _really_ wanted to be back in that feather bed…

"You still sleepin'?" Vin asked from behind.

_Damn. You're being too quiet, _he reprimanded himself. _For you, the best way to not draw attention to yourself is to draw attention to yourself._

"I should be," he muttered, then continued more loudly. "I don't understand why _we _have to be the ones responsible for practically rebuilding an entire homestead. It was an act of nature that destroyed the residence, not a catastrophe resulting from one of our often exuberant means of rounding up some foul low life. Therefore, it should not fall upon _us _to correct the misfortune."

Nathan swung around in his saddle with an angry glare.

_Perfect. Here it comes._

"People damn near lost their home. Ain't that enough to want to help? I thought with all those kids the Coopers've taken in, even _you_ would want to see to it they have a roof over their heads."

_Truly, I want nothing more than that, which is exactly why I'm here and not in bed where I belong._

Ezra placed a hand over his heart, looking as if his feelings were hurt. "I certainly don't wish for those poor children to remain crammed in that hotel room. I am merely suggesting that there are likely several well-meaning townsfolk who would be willing to volunteer to take up this ordeal, leaving us to do the peacekeeping duties we're being paid our measly salary for."

"You mean leavin' you to your beauty sleep," Nathan said, shaking his head.

"I can hardly be blamed for taking advantage of the fact that those of the criminal element tend not to partake in their lawbreaking activities until more reasonable hours of the day," Ezra said with his most aggravating smirk.

"Yeah, you would know," Nathan snapped back before riding further ahead of the Southerner.

"Why do you do that, Ez?" Vin asked as he drew up next to the perplexing conman.

_Because right now he's the one I have to keep the furthest away from._

"Do what?" he asked innocently, quirking up one side of his mouth. Vin gave him a knowing smile back and continued to ride beside him in companionable silence.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

"Godammit, Ezra!" Buck shouted, pulling his foot out from under the pile of long wooden planks and hopping around on it a few times.

"I told you there were too many to carry at once," Ezra said back in self-defense.

Buck stopped jumping and pointed his finger at the Southerner. "Now that's just bull. Me and JD hauled over twice this many and he didn't have a problem hangin' on to 'em!"

Ezra gritted his teeth. "It's the 'twice this many' that's bull, Mr. Wilmington. At most, the two of you managed to handle no more than three boards beyond what we have here."

The ladies' man shot Ezra an evil grin. "Well you just proved my point, then. We still got more of 'em over there in one trip without droppin' any than I been doin' with _your_ help."

"Then perhaps you should find a better assistant," Ezra snapped before storming away.

_You'll have to do better than that,_ he chided himself.

Dropping the boards hadn't been intentional; he just couldn't handle the strain. That would never do if we wished to keep up the act. The purpose, after all, was to appear his usual obstinate self, not completely incompetent. He shook his head and looked for something to do that would be a little less taxing on his body.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Less _taxing, you buffoon, you were supposed to find something _less _taxing._

He had thought locating Josiah would mean he would get to pound nails into a board or some other such trivial task. Unfortunately, he had been horribly, horribly mistaken. Instead, having had all his excuses shot down easily enough, he found himself being roped into his current predicament.

His body shook ever so slightly and sweat began to bead on his forehead as he strained to hold up the post. They had pushed it upright so that it could support a large downed section of the house long enough for them to clear out the ruination that lay beneath it. He had been given an option – keep the post steady or help haul out large pieces of the destroyed home and broken furniture. The bending and lifting didn't appeal to him, so in a display of distaste over how filthy he might become if he were to "move trash", he had taken up position against the support beam. Now he was wondering if that might not have been the less intelligent choice. If he failed, the beam would fall, and anyone beneath the makeshift roof it was holding up would find themselves taking a most unpleasant, very painful debris shower.

_You will _not_ let go of this post,_ he repeated to himself, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, glad that his face was away from the team so they couldn't see his discomfort.

The pole shifted slightly. He heard an ominous creak above him and a small cascade of dirt and wood slivers came pouring down around him. With a sharp intake of breath, he readjusted his grip and tried to push the beam back to its original position. He only succeeded in bringing down more bits of the roof.

"Hey, Ez, would ya watch it?" an annoyed JD called out.

His normally quick mind failed to think of a snappy retort as he continued to struggle against the weight of the post, which was still threatening to jump out of its position. With determination born from desperation, he set braced feet and shoved back against the wood with all his strength, gasping at the effect on his body the effort had. The pole slid back to its starting point, but he found himself unsure if he was capable of keeping it there. His arms were shaking horribly, particularly the right one, and he could feel the sweat rolling down between his shoulder blades.

_Just a little longer,_ he tried to rally himself, when suddenly he felt the weight of the building he'd been trying to hold up disappear. For a panicked second, he thought he'd pushed the pole too far and it had fallen down the other way, but when he opened his eyes to look (_when did I shut my eyes?), _he saw Josiah easily bracing the beam with one hand.

"You okay, son?" the preacher asked with a concerned gaze.

"Yes," Ezra replied with a shaky breath. "I believe I haven't been consuming enough water." The excuse sounded weak even to his own ears, but at the moment, it was all he could come up with. After a few minutes of intense scrutiny, the preacher nodded, and it took all of Ezra's trained control not to blow out the breath he'd been holding.

"Go take a break, get something to drink, maybe go help Chris with the fence when you're done," Josiah said, laying one hand on the Southerner's shoulder. "Don't want you passing out from heat exhaustion."

"No, that would not be agreeable," Ezra said with a smile. "Thank you."

He forced himself to keep his body posture casual and unstrained as he made a swift exit.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

A light slap on his cheek had him waking with a start, his confusion over the knowledge that he had unwittingly fallen asleep firing several thoughts through his muddied brain. He couldn't quite grasp the one thought that would tell him which game he was currently playing, which character he was supposed to be.

His body, however, quickly reminded him, and his mind was fast to catch up.

With instinct born from years of training, he easily shifted his pained look into one of an angry scowl as he blinked open his eyes. What he hadn't been prepared for was the matching look of annoyance on the face of a one Mr. Tanner.

"Ain't fair for you to be sleepin' when the rest of us are puttin' someone's home back together," the tracker remarked with a bite in his tone. "And don't gimme any a' that bull about menial labor. Twister tears through everything in _your_ life and you'd be wantin' someone to help you out, too. Put yourself in someone else's goddamn shoes for once."

Ezra decided it was best to say nothing in retaliation as he strove to keep the guilty look off his face. With a curt nod, he simply stood up (_I hope I covered that wince), _and made his way over to where he could see their black-clad leader threading wire through some fence posts.

"Might I offer some assistance?" he asked as he casually leaned against one of the poles.

"What, you gettin' in everyone else's way so they sent you to me?" Larabee returned with a surprising touch of humor in his tone.

Ezra flashed his gold tooth as he answered. "Something like that."

"All right," Chris smirked. "Put those gloves on, grab the other end of that wire and pull it tight so I can set it in place."

_This should be easy enough,_ Ezra thought, relieved. He had to cover up another wince as he bent down to retrieve the gloves, and he found the fingers on his right hand didn't want to grip the wire quite right but he didn't pay it much mind. He was, after all, ambidextrous. Shifting his weight so he could better pull with his left, he wrapped the wire around his hand and leaned back away from the post, pulling it taught. The move had him catching his breath in his lungs.

"You have to pull it tight, Ez," Chris directed.

_I thought I was._

Clenching his jaw, he wrapped the metal thread around his hand one more time and forced himself to lean back even further. He couldn't hide the shaking that had returned, full-force, in his body and prayed that Chris kept his focus on his work. Luckily, the gunslinger didn't even glance at him as he moved to set the wire, gripping it with one hand to hold it steady as he pounded the nail in with other. That was when Ezra's body decided it had taken enough abuse. He pitched forward causing the wire to go slack, the sudden loss of tension making it spring back down the line.

"God_dam_mit!" Larabee hissed as the thin metal sliced through his palm. "What the hell are you doin'?" he yelled at the gambler, cupping his injured hand against his shirt.

Ezra barely managed to straighten himself up, carefully unraveling the wire from around his own hand, thankful for the glove. "I slipped," he mumbled, trying desperately to keep his breathing under control.

"You damn near took my fingers off!" The enraged gunslinger continued, reaching out to grip the front of Ezra's dirtied shirt. "Just because you don't want to put your lazy, useless ass to work doesn't mean you have to jeopardize everyone else who gives a shit. Go back to town before you hurt someone. I'll figure out what to do with you later."

_Hell, this is exactly what I didn't want. Useless, indeed, _he thought, directing his anger at himself.

Chris mistook the look on Ezra's face for one of defiance, fueling his temper. He let go of the shirt and shoved the Southerner hard against the chest. Something gave beneath his hand with a sickening grating feel. Ezra cried out and dropped to the ground, wrapping his right arm around his torso and panting for air.

"Shit, Ezra," Chris cursed, all anger in his voice replaced with concern. "Let me see." He gently tried to pry the arm away so he could get a better look, but the second he wrapped his hand around Ezra's wrist, the gambler cried out again, tucking further into himself.

"Nathan!" Chris hollered, bringing all activity to a stand still as everyone rushed to the side of their injured friend.

"What happened?" Nathan asked as he slipped down beside the Southerner.

"I don't know, he must've busted his rib somehow," Chris frowned.

"When?"

"Hell if I know! Watch his wrist," he spat out as Nathan reached to move the arm.

"Hurt that too?" the healer asked.

"I think so."

Nathan softened his voice as he spoke to the gambler. "Come on, now, I need ya to move your arm so I can take a look."

"I'm sorry," Ezra gasped out as he pulled his own arm out of the way.

"Hush," Nathan quietly ordered as he carefully worked the shirt buttons loose. A collective intake of air sounded out as everyone took in the bruises covering the gambler's chest and stomach. With a shake of the head, the healer moved his hands across the battered rib cage, apologizing every time he heard Ezra hiss in pain. "One rib broken clean, two that are cracked, bruises probably on the rest of 'em."

Chris knelt down in front of Ezra's face, touching him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. "When'd this happen?" he asked, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Last night. I'm sorry," he said again through his labored breathing.

"Don't make him talk," Nathan scolded. "That busted rib shifted, it's probably pushing against his lung. I gotta set it right before it punctures something."

Chris ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, that's my fault. I pushed him."

Ezra shook his head. "My fault."

"Ezra, I told you to shush," the healer said more forcefully.

"Anything we can do?" JD asked.

"Yeah, get me my bag. Someone's gonna have to go back to town for a wagon. He shouldn't be riding in his condition."

"I'll go," Josiah volunteered and vanished with a swiftness that seemed unnatural for a man of his dimensions.

Nathan turned his attention to the injured wrist while he waited for JD to return with his supplies. Pulling back the sleeve, he tsk'd as he took in the purple hue of the flesh and the swelling in the joint. He rotated it slightly and a pathetic whimper escaped the conman's lips.

"Is it broken?" Vin asked.

"I think it's just a sprain. Probably woulda been all right if he hadn't been tryin' to use it all day. Damn fool."

"Shit," Buck breathed out. "We been ridin' his ass since this mornin', too. Musta been hurtin' pretty bad."

"Sure had a funny way of showin' it," Vin stated, shaking his head.

Nathan looked up and caught the seething glint in Larabee's eyes as he watched the Southerner struggle against taking a full breath. "Now's not the time, Chris," he reminded the gunslinger.

Chris punched his fist into the dirt. "Damn him!" he muttered before stalking away.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_You truly are a fool, Standish, _Ezra lectured himself as he blinked open his eyes. He stared up at the wooden ceiling and felt the soft mattress beneath him, inwardly cursing himself for his failure. This was exactly where he didn't want to be, holed up in a bed while the rest of his team worked to put someone's life back together - several someone's lives, children included. What must they think of his weakness, now?

_That I'm useless and lazy. Mr. Larabee already made that abundantly clear._

He sighed, picking at the sling holding his wrist in place, and mused over the fact that for once, the injury didn't occur in his left arm. Testing his ribs, he tried to suck in a deep breath but didn't quite get there before the pain in his chest flared up. He held in the air for a second before slowly blowing it back out, mindful of the fact that if he panicked, it would probably send him into a coughing fit which would be abundantly more painful than just taking shallower breaths.

"You hurtin'?"

Ezra jumped, flinching at the sound of Nathan's voice.

"Oh, Mr. Jackson, I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Why's that?"

The question threw him for a second before he recovered. "I just assumed with the Coopers that-"

"That what, we'd just leave you here all alone?"

"Well…yes," he admitted, averting his gaze from the healer's eyes.

Nathan barked out a humorless laugh. "Your stupid southern ass rode out of here and tried to put a house back together with busted up ribs and a sprained wrist. You think I'm gonna trust you to just lay here in bed while the rest of us are gone? Nuh huh, someone had to stay behind to keep you off your feet. Figured it might as well be me so I can patch you back up if I had to hurt ya to stay down."

_I see_, Ezra thought, rather forlornly. He had really hoped Nathan's presence was born out of concern for his well being, not out of lack of trust.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Yeah, so you keep saying. What the hell are you so sorry for, anyway? You do something to someone that put you in this state?"

Sharp green eyes met challenging brown. "Something like that," he forced out.

"That's why you hid this from us, isn't it? You didn't want us to know you couldn't do your job 'cause you were stupid enough to piss someone off the night before we had to ride out."

"Something like that," he said again, this time with more grit.

"What'd you do, cheat someone outta their life savings?"

Ezra glared at the healer. "I have told you on any number of occasions that I do not cheat, Mr. Jackson. Though I suppose that doesn't matter since obviously my word holds no bearing to anyone in this godforsaken dust bowl. Think what you will, it makes no difference to me."

But it did make a difference. In fact, it hurt a lot that what was going through the healer's head, and probably the rest of the team's, was exactly what he had feared.

_It was just a little pain. You should have been able to hide it better. You're losing your touch, Standish, and now look where you are._

He realized Nathan was still looking at him with those damn judgmental eyes. "If you wish to rejoin the others in their endeavor, by all means don't remain here on my account. I won't run."

The healer shook his head. "You always run, Ezra."

_Indeed, you all believe that I do._

Ezra sighed. "To answer your initial question, Mr. Jackson, I _do _hurt and therefore have no intention of leaving this bed. In fact, at this moment I'm not certain whether I could even accomplish the simple task of sitting up."

Nathan watched him for several quiet seconds, debating, before finally nodding his head. "I'll get you something for the pain before I head back out, then. If I come back to find you gone, though-"

"I'm not going anywhere. Please, for once, just take me at my word."

He nearly cringed at the slight desperation he heard in his own voice. _Why does it matter so much to me?_

He didn't get to finish the thought as he felt Nathan's hand slip behind his shoulders. "You need to sit up enough to drink this," the healer explained, the accusatory tone in his voice gone as the caregiver in him took over. He began to ease the gambler up when Ezra suddenly latched onto his arm, gripping it tight. "Just breathe through it, now, take it easy. You'll feel better when you get some of this tea down." When he gave the nod that he was ready to continue, Nathan lifted Ezra up just a little further so that he could drink down the contents of the cup, then just as slowly settled him back into the pillows.

After a few more labored breaths, Ezra's mouth quirked up into a smile. "See? I told you I couldn't even sit up," he said, his voice straining against the pain.

"Yeah, guess not," Nathan smiled back. "Get some rest. There aren't too many hours of daylight left so we'll be back to town soon. I'll have Ms. Travis come check on you while we're out."

"No need to bother the good lady. I believe all I shall do is sleep until your return."

Again, there was a hesitation while Nathan thought things over, seeming to weigh the options before coming to a conclusion. "All right, then, we'll let her be, but that means you'll be on your own. You need anything before I go?"

Ezra shook his head and shut his eyes. He heard the door open and shut, then let out a heavy sigh.

_Alone again._

And something non-physical twinged inside of him with the thought that he always would be.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

He woke to what sounded like a herd of horses racing up the stairs.

_Oh no,_ he thought as he heard the accoutrement of angry voices that floated over the thunderous sound of feet on wood.

"I'm gonna kill 'im."

"What the hell was he thinkin'?"

"Why didn't he just say somethin'?"

"Coulda gotten himself killed."

…and so on until the door flew open and six very intimidating men poured into the room, all with scowls on their faces directed at him.

_Did they find out? I guess it's time for the second act…_

Ezra yawned and rubbed at his groggy eyes before peering up at them, pretending like he didn't notice the seething glares boring into him. "Gentlemen," he greeted them, "is there something amiss?"

"Why the hell didn't you tell us?" Chris demanded.

Standish blinked owlishly up at him. "Tell you what? That I was injured? I was merely trying to avoid-"

"Don't play dumb with me, Ezra, I'm not in the mood. Why didn't you tell us about Horner's gang?"

_So they really _do _know… Then why are they all so angry?_

He had done a good deed. They _knew_ he had and were ready to string him up for it, anyway…

_Fine._

If that was how it was going to be, the time for games was over. It was time to retreat behind his walls and put up his defenses. He was done trying to figure out what would make him worthwhile in these men's eyes.

"I didn't think it was prudent that you know," he deadpanned. "I did my job. I took care of the problem. There was no need to involve anyone else."

"The hell there wasn't," Chris snapped. "You coulda been killed."

"I have dealt with Horner before, Mr. Larabee. I knew what I was walking into and had no doubt that I would be walking out of it."

_That's not entirely truthful. There was a little doubt…_

Chris pulled up a chair and settled into it, never taking his eyes off the gambler. The rest of the men quietly found spots around the room, taking the cue from their leader.

"Tell me about it," Chris said. His voice was low, but offered no room for argument.

Ezra held the gunslinger's gaze and spoke, keeping his own voice safely within the confines of the emotionless drawl he used to protect himself.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Considering he knew he would have to get up early the next morning, it had been a rather late night at the poker table with his last opponent finally clearing out shortly after midnight. Cursing himself for the hour, he gathered up his cards and hastily slipped them into his pocket, ready to get himself into bed as quickly as possible. He heard the saloon doors swing open again and looked up to tell the late arrival that they were closed, but the words caught in his throat when he saw who the visitor was._

"_Kyle Matthews," he said in disbelief._

_The man stopped in his tracks, his face spreading into a wide grin. "Well I'll be damned! If it ain't Ezra Sanders! How ya doin', pard?"_

_Ezra hesitated for only a second before plastering on his own easy smile. "Quite well, actually." He stepped forward and spoke quietly at the man. "I'm in the midst of a rather perilous con, but it should prove highly lucrative in the end."_

"_Lucrative? How can anythin' be worth riskin' your neck for in this hellhole?"_

_Ezra laughed, right on cue. "Diamond in the rough, my friend, diamond in the rough. So, tell me, what brings you to my dusty hovel?"_

"_Scoutin' targets for Horner, ya know how it goes."_

"_Ah, so you're still running with that band of merry miscreants?"_

"_Don't know why you ever left. We make more money than ever, now. Ya know, Horner always did have kinda a soft spot for ya, right? He'd prob'ly take ya back if yer int'rested…"_

_Ezra appeared to think it over for a few moments before politely shaking his head. "No, I think not. I find working alone has its benefits, the chief one being that I don't have to share my, uh, diamonds."_

_Kyle snorted out a laugh. "I can 'preciate that, pard." He slapped Ezra on the back once, then kept his arm around the gambler's shoulder as his face turned serious. "Ya do know that if there is a 'diamond' in this town Horner's gonna want it."_

_The Southerner glared at his old acquaintance. "I've been working this con too long to just hand over my fated riches. You tell Horner that I've already laid claim to this particular territory."_

_The man backed off, shaking his head. "Don't work that way and you know it, Sanders. You wanna keep stakes in a town, ya gotta earn it."_

"_I am not one of Horner's men anymore," Standish snarled. "I no longer have to play by his rules. Besides, he owes me a favor."_

_Kyle smiled. "Reckon' you playin' the game'll be his way of payin' ya back. You got it right, Sanders, you ain't one of us no more. That means if Horner wants to he can just have all of us ride in any time he damn well pleases and just take whatever and whoever he wants. You come with me, do it right and win, we'll back off. How's that sound?"_

"_Has Horner granted you permission to speak for him now?" Ezra inquired._

"_Nope, but I've been with 'im long enough to know that'll be his answer. Come on, I'll take ya to him and you'll see fer yerself."_

_Having no other choice, the conman gave the man a sharp nod and followed him out the door. _

_They rode out a few miles before coming on Horner's camp. Ezra recognized several of the men who smiled and greeted him as he came in. He kept up appearances, shaking hands and inquiring as to their well-being, all the while cringing at the thought that he once rode with such a loathsome group of evil-doers. There were several more men that he didn't recognize, and these gave him scowls and leery glares as he passed by them on the way to Horner. The new men looked even more brutal than the original crew and Ezra couldn't help but wonder if Horner had turned to yet more violent means of attaining his wealth._

"_Ezra, son, it's been ages!" a deep voice rang out._

_The conman put on his best smile as Horner waltzed up and gave him a tight hug. Ezra let it go on for several seconds before pulling back, his face revealing he was there for business. _

"_Yes, my friend, much too long, but I fear the hour isn't convenient for us to be catching up. I've simply come here to request you find a target other than Four Corners for your next monetary gain."_

_Horner grinned. "Why, Ezra, you find something worth hording there?"_

_The gambler made himself stand a little taller. "As a matter of fact, I have, and I aim to make certain it remains solely in my possession. The town is mine, Horner."_

_The bigger man looked around at his gang in disbelief before bellowing out a laugh. They all joined in his amusement before he brought them to a sudden halt with the simple raise of his hand. He turned dark eyes on the Southerner. "You left us, Ezra, and that means you don't have the right to lay claims anymore. I take what I want."_

"_I saved your life once, Horner. You owe me," Standish hissed._

_Horner frowned. "That was a long time ago."_

"_I took the fall for you and was very nearly hung!" Ezra spat out. "Surely the least you can do in return is bypass one little town?"_

_The men that were once "friends" with Ezra all nodded slowly, catching Horner's eye. He sighed as his lips quirked up into a slight grin. "All right, Ezra, all right. I'll tell you what, I'll allow you to play the game. You fight for your claim just like always."_

"_I'm not one of your men anymore, Horner."_

"_No, son, no you're not, but you never did try to win anything off me back when you were. Figure everybody's due for at least one and I'm letting you have yours right now. You win, town's yours and I'll ride on by. You lose, I do whatever I damn well please. You don't play, I consider it a forfeit and I still do whatever I damn well please."_

_Ezra clenched his jaw but saw he had no choice in the matter. "I choose my opponent?" he asked._

_Horner shook his head. "Like you said, you're not one of mine anymore and I'm bending the rules for letting you take the challenge, as is. No, this time I get to choose."_

_Standish bit his tongue, knowing this was an argument he was not going to win. He waited patiently as Horner eyed his men, and the cardsharp easily noticed how quickly he disregarded any of those who were already acquainted with the Southerner. Ezra had been quite popular with the others when he rode with them, and Horner knew they'd be more inclined to take it easy on the man in a fight. Instead, he smiled a nearly feral grin as his gaze locked on a bear of a man who sported a long scar over one eye and a completely clean-shaven head. _

"_Ezra, you'll be going against Arthur, here."_

_The gambler gulped. "Horner, I hardly think so obviously stacking the odds in your favor is fair."_

"_Well hell, son, all you ever did when you were mine was stack the odds. That's why I hired you on! I think it's only fitting you figure out a way to beat your own tactic," Horner said innocently._

"_Indeed," Ezra said with a raised eyebrow. Sighing, he stepped into the widening circle the men were creating with their bodies and began to strip off his outer layers. Arthur did likewise until both men faced each other in nothing but their trousers, and Ezra cringed at the multitude of scars running over the pure mass of muscle before him. The big man sneered at him, and he wondered whether that was some horrifying attempt at a smile._

"_All right, boys, you know the rules," Horner started. "No weapons other than the ones the good lord gave you. Other than that, everything flies."_

"_May I make a request?" Standish asked._

"_Depends on what it is," Horner answered._

"_Should I win, and I do aim to, I'll be needing the use of my more distinctive facial features to carry through with my plans." In other words, he needed to be able to hide this little uneven match from his friends._

"_You need your good looks to keep up the con?" Horace translated, then laughed. "You know what, Sanders? That just might make this little fight a bit more interesting. All right, Arthur, you heard the man. Take him out without touching his pretty face."_

"_No problem," the monster of a man agreed with that same grin-turned-sneer._

"_Thank you," Ezra said cordially, seeming as if he were completely relaxed when inside he was going frantic with trying to work through a way to win against the behemoth of a man before him. The strange thing was, he was less afraid of what the man was capable of doing to his body and more fearful of what may happen to the town and his friends if he should lose. Horace wouldn't let Arthur kill Ezra if it could be helped, but he wouldn't lift a finger to stop any vile actions that may fall upon the innocent people of Four Corners. Even worse, he would most likely encourage any torture inflicted upon the town's other lawmen._

_Ezra shook his head of the somber thoughts and focused on his opponent. He could beat this man. He _had_ to beat this man. Failure was simply not an option._

_Horace raised his gun into the air and counted down before firing off a single shot. Arthur immediately charged forward, but Ezra anticipated the move and simply stepped to the side, bringing his hand down hard between the man's shoulder blades as he passed. The hit seemed to only irritate Arthur and he turned to glare at the much smaller gambler._

I'm dead, _Ezra thought briefly before the now-enraged man took his first swing. The Southerner dodged the first blow and tried to block the second, but his strength was no match for the larger man. The driving fist merely pushed through the block, sending Ezra's own arm right into his rib cage and knocking him to the ground. The man was on him in a second, pounding muscled hands into the gambler's torso. After several blows Ezra managed to regain his senses, and in one swift move gripped both of Arthur's wrists, using the leverage to pull himself out from between the man's legs. As he rolled away, he sent a hard kick into the man's thigh and felt a little satisfaction at the grunt that came with it. Both men got back to their feet, Arthur now sporting a light limp around cramping leg muscles and Ezra panting through the pain in his ribs. They danced around one another for a few minutes before Arthur became impatient and dove forward in another attempt at a tackle, and again Ezra slipped away from the charge. This time he sent his fist into the man's kidney as hard as he could, dropping him to his knees. It was Standish's turn to reign blows upon his foe now, only he didn't use his fists. Instead, he gripped Arthur's shoulders and jammed his knee right into the man's spinal column, then did it again for good measure before releasing him. His opponent fell forward onto his hands and Ezra stepped beside him, ready to issue a kick into Arthur's side in hopes that it would permanently send him to the ground, but the man apparently had other plans. As the cardsharp's leg came up, Arthur reached around and grabbed the offending ankle, pulling up and yanking the gambler down onto his back. Acting purely on instinct, Ezra kicked the man's arm away the second he hit the ground, probably saving himself from earning a broken leg. He squirmed away and started to get back up when he realized Arthur had moved in behind him. With nowhere to go, he hoped to use his speed against the mass of the larger man and spun around swinging, praying he could catch Arthur off guard. A huge fist easily wrapped around Ezra's hand, stopping its momentum. With a grating chuckle, Arthur twisted his grip and wrenched on the Southerner's wrist, sending the smaller man back to his knees. Ezra gasped as the man twisted his hand even more and fought back the tears that were threatening to cloud his vision. As Arthur began to send his other fist into Ezra's ribcage, once again, the Southerner's head filled with morose images of the town going up in flames and the only people he ever really considered friends being carved up in front of him. He yelled out, more out of frustration than in pain, and in a final act of desperation the gambler pulled the only underhanded trick he had available to him – he brought back his left arm and swung his fist hard, straight into his captor's groin. Arthur released his hold on Ezra's hand immediately and Standish swung again, hitting that most sensitive area even harder the second time. As the man went down, Ezra stood up and sent his foot right into Arthur's sternum, knocking the air from his lungs. With adrenaline and pain fueling him, the conman straddled Arthur and let his uninjured fist strike vulnerable areas over and over again. He lost all track of time as the need to protect his new home and the friends residing within it consumed him. Finally, just as he felt his strength waning, he felt several hands pull him off the target of his rage._

"_Enough, Ezra, that's enough son." Horace's words broke through the haze of anger the gambler had allowed himself to get lost in. He looked down at the man who lay moaning and half-unconscious at his feet, then around at the men who surrounded him. Their faces were a mix of shock, anger, pride, and in Horner's case, curiosity._

"_Damn, boy, I don't think I ever saw you work so hard for something in all the time you ran with us," the older man laughed. "Whatever you got in that town must be worth a hell of a lot."_

"_You will never know," Ezra promised him darkly, a threat lancing his tone._

_Horner raised his hands in the air. "You won fair and square. Prize is yours."_

_With a slow nod, Standish made his way back to his clothing and managed to gingerly work his quickly bruising body back into his shirt. He struggled with the vest as the fading adrenaline was replaced with the horrid sensation of pain searing through his sides, chest, and wrist. Kyle took pity on his once friend and helped him into the coat and awkwardly back onto his horse, for which the Southerner breathlessly thanked him._

"_Hey Kyle," Horner called over just before Ezra set out. "Why don't you ride back with him, make sure he gets there all right. Then I want you right back here, understand? You stay out of that boy's town." He turned to address all of his men. "That goes for all of you, you hear? Anyone doesn't honor the game, consequences are your own."_

_There was a solemn nodding of heads in some, a respectful acknowledgment in others. Ezra met the gaze of his past employer and they shared an amicable understanding between them. Four Corners would remain untouched if Horner could help it, but this would be the end of the line for the gambler. Debts had been paid and should the two men cross paths again, they would no longer be old acquaintances. Standish would just be another stranger that would either step back from their criminal force or stand against them to succumb to whatever fate awaited him. _

_The Southerner shuddered, praying that he would never have to find out. Horner was honorable amongst his own, but the rest of the world be damned. Those men would plow right over him if he ever tried to face them down again, and some of them would probably enjoy it._

_As they neared town, Kyle tipped his hat to the gambler in a last form of goodbye, both recognizing they would be enemies from then on. Ezra returned the gesture and turned back towards his home, pushing himself back to the new life he had just fought to keep and distancing himself from the old life he no longer wished to remember. His whole body ached by this point and he contemplated heading up to Nathan's clinic to be seen to, but quickly changed his mind. There was work to be done in the morning and he needed to be there to lend a hand. He didn't let his brothers down tonight and he wouldn't let them down come morning. The game with Horner had been won, now it was time to play a new one. His brothers would never know…._

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

"As you can see, I had the situation firmly under control," Ezra finished, having left out certain details he didn't feel his colleagues needed to be privy to.

Silence filled the room and after a few uncomfortable minutes, the gambler glanced up to meet the stares of the six men around him. Larabee, not surprisingly, looked downright pissed; Nathan looked sad and a little….guilty?; Buck shook his head with a peculiar little smirk; Vin gave him a respectful nod; Josiah merely looked pensive; and JD was practically beaming.

Chris broke the silence, his tone icy. "Did you even think before you ran off on your own? What would've happened to you, to the town, if you'd lost?"

Ezra met the glare with fire in his eyes. "I didn't have to think of alternative consequences when I knew they wouldn't exist."

"Damn cocky sonuvabitch, you could've gotten everyone killed," the gunslinger snapped.

"Which is precisely why I knew I would win!" the Southerner practically yelled, sitting up on the bed. "Losing was simply not an option!"

The sudden exertion pulled on his ribs and he fell back onto the pillows with a grimace, scrunching his eyes shut. Nathan was at his side in an instant, checking to make sure he hadn't done any damage to the healing bones in his outburst. Chris took a step back, bowing his head down as Ezra tried to breathe through the flare of pain.

"You should've told us," the gunslinger said softly.

"I was trying….to avoid an unnecessary…confrontation," the gambler explained, wincing as Nathan gently prodded him. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing. "If you'd think for a mere moment you'd realize that I took the action that would impose the least amount of risk to everyone involved."

"The only one involved was you, pard," Buck spoke up.

"Precisely," Ezra said with a slight grin.

Chris shook his head, realizing the logic in Standish's words but not wanting to admit it to anyone. He didn't like the thought that one of his men had to walk into a deadly situation alone, and worse that he had hid it from them. Why hadn't he just told them what had happened?

"Why didn't ya say nothin'?" JD asked the question for him.

Ezra sighed. He wouldn't tell them it was because he didn't think they'd believe him, that they'd assume he had fallen prey to an angry mark at the poker table. He didn't want to say it was because he was trying to avoid that judging, disappointed look they tended to save only for him; that look he had received anyway, despite putting on the best performance he could muster through his injuries. He refused to admit that he was so damn tired of trying everything he could think of to do something these men would be proud of only to fall flat at every turn. Hell, he wasn't just tired, he was exhausted. This was a game he knew wholeheartedly he would never win, and he wondered why he had kept playing for so long…

"I didn't tell you, JD," he answered with a sigh, "because I didn't want you gentlemen to ignore the needs of the Cooper children in favor of riding off on some misguided desire to avenge my minor injuries."

_There, a compromise with a partial truth. They'll believe that._

"Your whole ribcage is a mess," Nathan scolded. "Ain't nothin' minor about the fact that you could've died right out there at that homestead if you'd punctured a lung."

"Yes, well, I realize I may have made an error in judgment in that regard. I assure you, it won't happen again." He closed his eyes, a signal that he wished the conversation to be over.

Chris looked around at his men and without him having to say a word, his message got through clearly enough and they slowly shuffled from the room. Nathan hesitated a bit longer before sighing in resignation and leaving his patient in the care of the one man who was liable to finish off the Southerner.

"Why are you still here, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra asked without opening his eyes.

Chris clenched his jaw before answering. "You take a good look at everybody?" he asked.

The Southerner opened one eye and quirked his brow up in confusion. "Was something amiss?" he inquired when the gunslinger said no more.

"Think about it, Ezra," Larabee coaxed.

Standish frowned and scanned his memory for the finer details he may have overlooked in his irritation over the past days' events. One by one, the pieces started to fall into place as his mind filtered over the images of his friends. Josiah had a darkening bruise along his jaw line, JD had a scratch stretching across his left cheek just under his eye, Vin had a tear in the sleeve of his beloved jacket and had kept that arm tucked protectively, Buck hadn't been putting much weight on his right leg, Nathan had winced ever so slightly when he had leaned over Ezra to check his ribs, and Chris…

He looked up and scrutinized the gunslinger more closely. One of his hands was wrapped in a bandage covering the cut that Ezra had inadvertently caused with the wire, but there was more damage to both hands that hadn't been there before. His knuckles were covered in scrapes, scratches, and bruises, injuries the gambler was all too familiar with. Chris had beat the living soul out some poor individual, and Ezra sighed as he realized who that someone might be.

"They came anyway, didn't they?" he asked quietly, feeling even more the fool and the failure.

"Not Horner, no," Chris was quick to point out, seeing the gambler's dejected look, "but I think someone didn't take to losing very well."

"Arthur," Standish declared with a look of distaste.

"Ugly bald bastard with a scar?" Chris clarified, then with a smirk added, "and a limp."

Ezra couldn't help but flash his own satisfied grin before asking, "What happened?"

Chris shrugged. "Met up with him and a few others on our way back to town. Didn't like how they looked so we asked a few questions, and they gave us an interesting story to cover their hides. They were nice enough to warn us about a con artist trying to take advantage of the town, told us all about how they'd take care of him, finish off what they had started. The boys got a bit offended by the details…"

"And where are the cretins now?" Ezra asked with a slight hesitation.

"Few of 'em are dead, Arthur included." The cardsharp didn't miss the subtle glance the gunslinger threw down at his hands. "Rest are in jail. They told us Horner would come for 'em. We gonna have a problem?"

Ezra shook his head. "Horner doesn't waste his time with men who refuse to follow a simple order. We won't be seeing him again."

Larabee nodded, trusting the Southerner's word without hesitation. Ezra couldn't help but feel a spark of warmth inside him from that simple action, that little light of hope telling him perhaps the game wasn't lost yet. The feeling grew even more as the man in black laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I know why you did it, Ez, but don't pull anything like that again," he said, his tone soft but the order in it clear. He held up his other battered hand for the gambler to see. "We get hurt watching each other's backs, but this type of pain's a lot less than the one that comes with knowing someone you cared about died because you weren't there for them. I don't ever want to feel that again, and I sure as hell don't want any of you to go through it. Next time you think the town's in trouble- hell, any time you think _you're_ in trouble, for any reason, you damn well better come find us. We look out for our own, is that clear?"

For once, the smooth talking con artist found himself at a loss for words. The only thing he could do was nod his affirmation, that warm feeling threatening to explode through his damaged ribs. He was a screw-up, a cheat, a liar, a lazy bastard when it suited him, but for some strange reason these men still claimed him as one of theirs. He was wanted, God only knew why, but dammit he was. Maybe they _had_ seen him trying, maybe his attempts weren't all in vain, after all. Maybe, just maybe, he had already won the game and just hadn't been aware of it…

Chris watched as a slow smile spread across the gambler's lips and his eyes slid shut. A comfortable sleep took the healing man's pain away, and the gunslinger patted his arm before pulling the chair closer to sit vigil beside the bed. He took another look at the dimpled smile and shook his head with his own knowing grin. That man, with his enigmatic ways, was going to drive them all nuts until the day they met their maker; but he wouldn't have it any other way.

_**The End!**_


End file.
